Countdown: Four
by KJ4
Summary: Meet Jake Peters, a nova mercenary for hire with a past he'd rather forget...until a certain woman with platinum blond hair offers him a job. Meanwhile...whatever happened to Bomber after Buddy dropped a building on him?


Disclaimer: Don't own Incredibles, don't own Aberrant, don't own PSI (though ICE doesn't care how you use or tweak their organization). Incredibles is owned by Pixar/Disney. Aberrant owned by White Wolf Media. PSI was originally created by Iron Crown Enterprises/HERO games...though they haven't released an update for the organization since the "reboot". Jake Peters was created by someone over on Plothook (don't know their real name, but Jake is their creation). Not sure who owns House...but I don't. Scrubs is also owned by Disney.

Author's notes: And yes, people...I am back after taking a month off and working on other things. But now it's time to wrap up things and get ready for WoA. As usual, I want to thank the usual suspects, Nullchronicler, Cyrus, Shannon, Concolor, Artificus, Walker, and others. I also want to thank Zarthrax and various members of the "Interesting Times" RPG for their input and permission...yes people, there is an online "play by post" game of this fic. Bomber is my sick and twisted creation, Slapstick is owned by Crazystick (he's the guy who also originally created Zoe).

Oh yeah...and you can blame Zarthrax and Jake Peters' creator for this little plotline. When I read the angle they were running, I realized "Oh shit...this makes sense, why didn't I think of it?" So, with permission, I decided to borrow/use/steal that sub-plot and use it. I'm not too sure about this installment, so I'll probably re-edit any major errors as I catch them.

* * *

"_Despite the recent misunderstanding with a Utopia team, Syndrome Software & Technology seems to have taken the world by storm. In fact, some have gone so far to say that the skirmish at SST has actually attracted international attention. Already, t-shirts with the SST logo have surfaced and sold like wildfire, particularly in the United States where some people question the sincerity of Project Utopia."_

"_And then there is the young man behind it all...David Pine Flynn, mega genius and admitted son of the late Buddy Pine. Though he has been forthcoming about his background, there are those who wonder if he intends to follow in the footsteps of his unstable father. Tonight, on N!Sight, we will investigate this young man and find out what he's truly about..."_

- N!Sight promotional segment, N! Channel.

* * *

_**Camden Meadow Apartments**_

_**Metroville, California**_

Jake Peters considered himself to be a simple man with simple tastes living a relatively simple life...well as simple a life a being like himself could have. Many people would think that being a nova meant power, fame, fortune, and all the other perks that came with it. There were times that Jake really wanted to track down the people who actually believed that bullshit and toss them through a plate glass window.

Unfortunately, that would draw unwanted attention, attention he really didn't need...not if he wanted to keep his current life as Jake Peters. He lost track of his previous life, preferring to live this new life and try to forget the past. What really bothered him at times was the fact that he actually thought of himself as "Jake Peters", his previous identity just a distant memory...not that it was really worth remembering.

So, here he was in Metroville, Jake Peters, freelance bouncer/body-guard and all-around badass for hire. It really wasn't that bad of a gig. It allowed him to use his abilities and skills in a way that didn't arouse suspicion, and the work was steady. With the money he made and, given his simple tastes, he was able to make a semi-comfortable living. The only down-side was the rundown motel he paid rent at. There were times he was tempted to find a home to buy or rent, but he felt it was too risky. It was better to keep things simple and live at a sleazy dive that could easily be abandoned if certain associates from his former life managed to track him down.

But that still didn't change the fact that he had to deal with what had become a regular ritual every couple weeks...a ritual that consisted of him being awakened at six in the morning by that annoying pounding on his front door which was accompanied by a equally annoying thick Eastern European accent demanding this month's rent.

For a moment, Jake just laid there in his bed, hoping the annoying little bastard would stop pounding the door and go away. He didn't get much sleep, seeing as how he pulled security detail for three bachelor parties the night before and he hadn't gotten home until about...well...only an hour and a half ago.

The pounding on the door persisted, and the little shit was screaming about using his master key and swearing in some language that may or may not have been Russian.

Jake shook his head. _I swear, one of these days I'm gonna' rip one of his appendages off._

He slowly got up out of bed, grabbing his bathrobe off the foot of the bed. He then walked over to the desk at was against the other wall of his room and grabbed an envelope out of a drawer that he kept around for this occasion. When he reached the front door, he said nothing. Instead, he waited until he could hear the jingling of the key-chain and the sound of a key being slid into locking mechanism.

That was when he suddenly opened the door, which actually made the man jump in surprise. Jake held the envelope in front of the man's face, resisting the urge to swat the little shit in the face with it.

"You see this?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. "It's early, I work nights, I'll keep this short and sweet as I'm not in a good mood. I have here receipts, signed by you, for the rent here." To emphasize his point, he pulled some of the paperwork out of the envelope and waved it in front of the other man's face. "As you can see, I've not only paid up, but I've paid ahead for a few months. Now, until I haven't paid you, or I need something fixed and call you, you need to go away and leave me alone. And maybe you need to write this down so you don't come around here bothering me and maybe catching me in a worse mood. Or maybe I can write it down for you..I know a tattoo artist that would be happy to put it on your arm. Now, good day."

Jake then slammed the door in the landlord's face, cutting the man's protests off. He waited a few seconds to see if the bastard was going to push his luck and pound on the door again. Instead, the man shuffled off down the hallway to bother the next tenant.

_It might be time to upgrade to an actual apartment._

He contemplated heading back to bed for a few hours, but he was too pissed off to sleep now. He returned the envelope back to its desk drawer and headed off to the bathroom, hoping a half-hour under the shower would calm him down and make him stop thinking about tossing his landlord into oncoming traffic.

Forty-five minutes later, he was on his motorcycle, the Boss Hoss' engines roaring loudly as he made his way through the downtown Metroville area. He normally wasn't out this early in the day, so he found himself wandering around semi-aimlessly through town until he made it to one of his usual haunts, a little diner called "Morrie's".

Though it easily fit the stereotype of a "greasy spoon" establishment, the food was good...actual home-style cooking and a decent price. The fact that it also sat across the street from Metroville High School made it a regular for students and faculty during the day. Rumor had it that old Morrie Tate was thinking about opening another place on the north side of town, but the old man and his family dismissed that as a rumor.

In the year that he had been coming to this place, Jake got to know Morrie and the usual crowd that hung out in the late-night/early morning hours. So, it was kind of a shock to Jake to be coming into the joint at a little after seven in the morning and being welcomed by the morning smells of bacon, eggs, and pancake batter.

_Damn...I may have to start coming here in the mornings._

He waved at the middle-aged woman behind the counter, Connie...Morrie's sister and business partner. "Mornin' Connie," he said as he took a seat at the front counter.

"Jake Peters?" The woman asked, half-surprised at seeing a "regular" come in this early. "What the hell are you doing here this early? You're usually showing up at the end of my shift when Morrie takes over."

Jake smiled at her and picked up a menu on the counter. "Annoying landlord," he replied. "Woke me up, couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided to grab something to eat."

Connie shook her head as she poured him a cup of coffee. "Still living in that flea-trap? You really need to get out of there."

"Believe it or not, I'm seriously considerin' it...Yuri's starting to piss me off." He opened up the menu and started to look at the contents. "So...what is this strange stuff in the menu?" he asked half-jokingly. "This strange thing called an omelette...hash browns...pancakes?"

Connie laughed at him. "It's breakfast, Jake."

"Breakfast...what is this 'breakfast'?" He chuckled and took a sip of coffee. "Okay...I'll take a Denver omelette with pepper-jack cheese, some home-style potatoes, and four-stack of 'cakes" He pulled a twenty about of his wallet and handed it to Connie. "Keep the coffee comin' too, will ya?"

Jake continued to drink his coffee and helped himself to a newspaper that a previous customer had abandoned while Connie passed his order to the cook in the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, he had made his was way half-way through the sports section when Connie placed his order in front of him. He was about to thank her when he noticed the annoyed look on her face.

"What's wrong?"

Connie shook her head, failing to hide her disgust. "Nothing...it's just that the Assketeers have arrived."

Jake followed her gaze and turned around in his seat and saw five young men wearing high school jackets making their way across the street towards the diner. Even without the jackets, Jake could tell they were jocks from their arrogant swagger and the way a small group of cheerleaders flocked around them. His gaze went beyond that group and momentarily focused on the other students starting to arrive at the school, some by bus, some on foot, and other's by car. He couldn't help being reminded of his own "High School Days" as he picked out the usual groups....the jocks, the preppies, the geeks, the slacker, and...of course...the cheerleaders....kind of hard to miss the young ladies and their semi-revealing attire.

He managed to stifle his snicker.

_The more things change, the more they stay the same. I guess it's true...nothing ever changes, it just looks different._

Though, in his day, the school he attended almost always had a stabbing, a drug-bust, or the occasional murder. Police were a common sight and that was at least a decade before the Columbine shootings ever happened.

_Then again, my generation was already aware of the shit-hole this world could be...it just took the rich white trash another decade to get to that point._

It wasn't a racist, just a statement of fact. He grew up in the the inner city...most of the naive idiots who attended a school like Metroville High were of the upper middle-class and above. To them, school shootings were only a remote possibility, only those with no future or 'loners' did shit like that. Metroville High was also one of those schools that the local politicians always made sure the school got a good share of the money meant for education.

"Now be nice," Jake said, amused by Connie's reaction, though he couldn't blame her. "They are paying customers."

"Yeah, but they act like they own the place. The blond shit with the spiky blond hair, that's Dashiell Parr, he leads that little pack making their way here."

_Dashiell Parr...why does that name sound familiar?_

He had heard that name, but from where. Then his gaze fell on the sports section of the newspaper, particularly the article talking about local athlete's.

_Ah yes...the local 'all-star'._

"I take it he's bad news?" he asked.

"Not if you're the school principal or a coach. He's an all-star athlete with an ego to match...he and his crew come here a few times a week and leave the place a mess."

"Why don't you ban them?"

"Tried that once," Connie said, a sad look on her face. "And the school board suddenly decided that no students would be allowed to leave campus for lunch. After Morrie had a discussion with the coach, the school board changed their mind."

"Shit...and I thought corruption only happened in politics."

"Well, people have to learn it from somewhere."

Jake shook his head and went back to eating his breakfast as the aforementioned group entered the building and too a couple booths near the door.

"Yo, how about some service here?" one of the other jocks called out.

Jake minded his own business and resumed eating his meal while Connie dealt with the teens who would start to order something, then change their mind, then order something else, then change their mind again, then order what they originally ordered, but changed it and went with something simple and cheap. He could hear Connie grumbling under her breath as she walked by and passed the order to the cook in the kitchen. He also heard the snickers and laughter from the teens.

_Damn...I know my generation was bad in my day, but these kids are assholes._

As Connie cleared away his empty dishes, he continued to drink his coffee, studying the group. From what he observed, Connie was right, the blond haired jock was obviously the leader of this little group probably through personality, some brute force and....there was something else. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was something about Dashiell Parr that made him a little uneasy.

_The kid acts a little too sure of himself...maybe it's cockiness...but that doesn't feel right...there's something more to it._

Suddenly, that was when he and the blond jock made eye-contact. There was something in the kid's eyes, an arrogance...and a challenge. Jake wasn't sure why but, for some reason, the Parr kid saw him as something that resembled a threat to his domain.

_Great...a teenage punk with a chip on his shoulder....I really don't need this kind of shit._

Jake hoped a friendly smile and a nod would be enough to end the situation and decided to return his attention to his newspaper, this time focusing on the International section which was talking about the freak Tsunami disaster in the Indian Ocean from several days ago.

"Is there a problem, old man?" The punk was getting up from the table and approaching him, two of his fellow jocks flanking him.

_Shit...was is this kid's problem?_

Jake shook his head and smiled again. "No kid, I got no problem. Just enjoying my breakfast, though it looks like you seem to have one...or two...but don't worry, kid. Some day, the hair on your face will grow all the way in and the other one will drop, making that cracking in your voice go away as well."

Jake heard something drop in the kitchen and the sound of someone trying not stifle their laughter. He also heard Connie snicker from over by the coffee maker.

"Look," he said, "I'm just trying to finish up my breakfast, so why don't you and your two suck-ups head back over to the playground you came from. You can make up whatever story you want to impress the girls over there, okay? Now, amscray."

For a moment, nobody moved, Jake simply sitting there while the Parr kid continued to glare at him defiantly. It was obvious that he hit a nerve on the kid who thought Jake was apparently some nobody off the street. To the kid's credit, he didn't seem to miss a beat. Though there was a moment's hesitation, he hadn't lost his confidence.

"I don't think you quite get it," the kid said. "You have a problem." He glanced back over his shoulder for a moment. "Joey, make the call."

'Joey' nodded, walked a few feet away, pulled out a cellphone, hit three digits, and started to call.

"See," Parr continued, "the cops around here frown on overage perverts openly leering at the kids around here. Makes 'em a bit edgy. And considering Joey's dad is chief of police, the cops should be here in about three seconds. So, since I like you, I'm giving you a two second head start..."

This time Jake laughed in the kid's face. "Son, I was just sitting here enjoying my food. Making accusations like that will get you into a world of crap you don't even know. We can start with harassment, defamation of character, slander, and go from there." He then leaned back in his chair. "So please, get the police involved so I can file a formal complaint about young punks coming over here, getting in my face, interrupting my breakfast, invading my privacy and embarrassing me in public. And if his dad gives me grief...well, I know plenty of media and lawyers that will just eat this up. Oh...and by the way, Morrie's, the last time I checked, was a 'public' place and anyone can eat here. Believe it or not, they do serve customers other than your crowd."

Jake paused to take a sip of coffee. Then all hint of amusement disappeared and there was the hint of warning in his voice. "So take my advice, walk away." He then looked over at 'Joey' who was standing there with his cell-phone. "All of you."

Again, there was a moment of silence as nobody did anything, then Joey spoke up as he put his phone away. "He ain't buyin' it, Dash. Game over."

Parr turned to glare at his friend. "He was before you opened your big mouth, dumbass!"

The trio then retreated to their side of the diner and rejoined the others at the two tables they occupied. After a few minutes of arguing, the entire group got up and left. Jake looked over at where Connie was standing.

"Sorry about costing you some customers, Connie."

Connie shrugged and shook her head. "Don't worry about it, Jake. Tony didn't even start on their order...we figured they would leave the moment Parr got up in your face. Truth be told, you should come here more often for breakfast, keep the riff-raff out."

Jake smiled at her. "I might think about it, the food's good enough."

"I'm serious, Jake. Those idiots have gotten braver since the Kilmarten girl stopped coming here."

"The who girl?" Jake asked, curious now.

"Zoe Kilmarten," Connie said as she started to pick up the half-empty glasses from the two tables the teens had occupied and placed them in a plastic bin. "Hyperactive teen, dyed her hair pink....Parr and his friends stayed away from her and behaved themselves. Not sure why though...but she scared the hell out of them."

Jake chuckled at that image...a group of jocks terrified of some girl with pink hair. "You're joking, right?"

"No, I'm serious...scary little thing. She is the only sixteen year old I know who brings in a sixty-four ounce thermal mug, has me fill it with coffee, and then downs it in under five minutes."

"No way." Then Jake saw a sad look on Connie's face. "So what happened to her?"

"Rumor had it she was a nova and some people from Utopia showed up to take her. She hasn't been back since then and I learned her parents pulled her out of school." Connie then lowered her voice as she walked by him. "I heard that she was involved in that little skirmish at that new tech firm a few weeks ago."

_Hmmm...interesting...sounds like I missed out on some things while I was in Vegas on that security job._

He watched the small group walk across the street, but he saw Dashiell Parr shoot him a look that plainly said "This isn't over". Jake shrugged and went back to drinking his coffee and finishing up the article he was reading in the paper.

Or, he would have if it weren't for the light clapping coming from another table. He looked up and saw a woman in her mid to late thirties with platinum blonde hair sitting at a table, a cup of coffee and two manila folders in front of her.

"Congratulations, Mr. '_Peters_'," the woman said. "Few people have the sand to stand up to the arrogant little pissant."

A couple things set off warning bells in the back of Jake's head, the first being that he knew that the woman had not been there a few seconds ago. The second thing was her emphasis on his last name which hinted that she knew it was an alias. However, the fact that she was merely sitting there sipping a cup of coffee and, while probably armed, didn't seem to pose much of a threat made him curious.

"Nah, he's a punk that's gotta be the bad ass. Somewhere he picked up a big chip for his shoulder. He'll grow out of it, probably after getting his ass handed to him a time or two." He grabbed his own cup of coffee and cautiously made his way to the table. "Now then," he said as he sat down across from the mysterious woman, "do I know you?"

The woman only smiled. "If you did, Mr. _Peters_, then I'd be highly impressed." She then took another sip of her coffee.

"And you even know my name, though you're saying it all funny," Jake chuckled. "So tell me yours and we'll be even. So if you're looking for work, you definitely got what it takes, I can even get you started tonight."

"Doubtful, I have standards, Mr. _Peters._"

Jake chuckled and shook his head. "Then why are you here? I know this game, even though the rules might have changed in the last few years. So...talk to me."

"It's good to know that you're not out of practice at this for all your attempts to run away from it," the woman said.

Again, warning bells went off in Jake's head. This person knew about his past...who was this woman? She wasn't one of the rogues that broke off like he did. Though he felt the fear forming in his gut, he managed to hide it behind a healthy dose of contempt in his voice. "You're PSI, aren't you?"

"Oh please," the woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. It was obvious she didn't like that comparison. "If I were PSI, I would have bolted you and operatives would have dragged you off." She paused to take another sip of coffee before continuing. "Relax, Mr. _Peters,_ PSI, as you know it, no longer exists, especially after Dicker and the NSA took down those in charge of the program." She actually shuddered a little when she mentioned Dicker's name. "I knew Dicker was willing to do whatever it took to protect his country, but even he surprised us."

"_Us_?" Jake repeated. "If you're not PSI, what are you?"

"That is irrelevant, Mr. Peters," the woman replied. "I am here strictly on a personal matter and wish to hire you for a job." She slid one of the folders across the table towards him.

Curious, Jake opened the folder to examine the contents which consisted of a photograph and a file for one David Pine Flynn, age 18, CEO of a newly formed Tech company called Syndrome Software & Technologies. Along with the file were a couple newspaper clippings and a business card with an address for SST. Jake took a few minutes to study the contents while the woman continued to sip her coffee.

"Okay," Jake finally said. "And what exactly do you want me to do with him?"

"It's quite simple, Mr. Peters," she said, not putting emphasis on his name, "I want you to get close to him, gather some intel, and occasionally pass that information on to a contact that I will send to you. I also want you to act as a bodyguard and make sure nothing happens to him unless I say so. And, under no circumstances, is he to know that you work for me." She then gave him another smile, this one cold and calculating. "Then again, you're used to that sort of thing, aren't you?"

"Let me get this straight," Jake said. "You want me to get close to some teenage punk mega-genius, spy on him, and, from the way you worded it, protect him unless you say otherwise...which means killing him might be an option."

"I'd rather not go that route," the woman said. Though she was calm and composed about it, Jake thought he caught the tiniest hint of emotion in her demeanor for a brief moment. "It may be necessary, but I hope it doesn't come to that."

"I see...and I suppose the second folder is dependent on whether I take the job or decide to walk out the door."

The woman smiled again, but there was nothing friendly about it, cold and calculating. "You've done this before," she said, sliding the other folder across the table. "Can't offer a job without setting up the consequences for not taking it."

Curious, and more than a little wary, Jake opened the folder and skimmed through the contents. Somehow, he wasn't too surprised as he read information that he had thought was erased...everything from his juvenile record, his time in the military, his stint with the NSA, his black-ops work for PSI, the mortgage to his house, the current location of his ex-wife under her new identity, and the names of the others who managed to disappear. He felt his anger start to rise...this woman had single-handedly compromised him and everyone he cared about. He was about to tell her to go to hell until he opened a piece of paper with a simple number written on it.

10,000,000.

"What's this?" he asked, holding the piece of paper up.

The woman took another sip of her coffee before answering. "That, Mr. Peters, is what you will get if you agree to the job. Everything else in that folder goes away permanently."

_Ten million dollars...to simply watch over this kid? Who is he? And why is he so damn important to this lady?_

He really wanted to ask those questions, but knew better. Instead, he nodded in agreement as he closed both folders and pushed them back across the table to his new client. "Okay, I'm in....just one thing...how the hell am I supposed to get close to this kid? In case you didn't notice, I'm thirty-three years old, and you're asking me to hang around the young-adult/teen set."

"Well, I could say that you're a smart man, you'll think of something," the woman replied. "But it so happens that he is hiring a full security staff and is looking for experienced individuals, especially after a recent incident." There was a hint of disgust in her voice when she said the word "incident".

"Yeah," Jake said. "I heard about that little dust up with Utopia...I have to admit the kid's got some stones to face them down."

"Actually, I wasn't referring to that." The venom was very clear in her voice now. "I'm referring to the physical assault he endured last night. I'm hoping that won't happen again with you there."

"What happened? Did Utopia send someone to beat his ass."

"No." Again, the coldness in her voice could be felt. "And if that particular individual attacks Flynn again...well...don't kill him, but feel free to beat him to a bloody pulp and put him on a respirator." Then she smiled again. "In fact, given who it is, you might enjoy it."

He noticed her looking past him and followed her gaze which seemed to be focusing on the high school across the street. He then turned back to face her. "Okay, so what did you mean by-"

He stopped in mid-sentence when he realized that he was the only one sitting at the table. There was no sign of the woman he was talking to, no file folders, no coffee cup, and the chair she was sitting in was pushed up to the table, as if no one was even there.

"What...the...hell," he said slowly as he got up from the table.

"Oh, Jake...you're still here," Connie said as she came out of the kitchen. "I thought you had left because I didn't see you out here when I cleaned up the other table."

_How could you not see me? I was out here having a conversation with some strange lady!_

"Oh..I was in the restroom," he managed to lie. "Then I got a phone call."

"Hell of a place to have conversation," Connie laughed.

Jake laughed as well. "Tell me about it...well, I'm outta' here."

"So what are you going to do this early in the day?"

"Oh I don't know," he said as he made his way out the door, pausing for a second to look back over his shoulder. "I was given a possible job offer, I think I'll check it out."

"Good, then you can move out of that shit hole!"

Jake chuckled at that as he made his way back to his motorcycle. A few minutes later, he was back on the road and heading over to the address he memorized from the file he had read, failing to notice the blue Mercury Sable he passed by and its platinum haired occupant.

Mirage watched him disappear around a corner a smiled sadly as she looked at the photograph of David Flynn. She wasn't sure why she was doing what she was doing. She really had no personal attachment to the boy.

_Except that he IS your flesh and blood._

She shook her head, pushing that thought aside behind cold logic. Yes, the boy was technically her own flesh and blood, but through artificial means. The only reason she hired Peters to watch over the boy was to make sure the kid didn't turn into a monster like his father.

_Yes...keep telling yourself that...maybe you'll actually believe it._

It was true, she had no emotional attachment...how could she have an attachment to something that was created from genetic material taken from her?

_And yet...you still want to protect him from his father...from Proteus. You were even angered when the Parr boy beat the shit out of him...you even felt pride that your son, though outgunned, managed to fight back. For someone denying that they're a mother, you're doing a good imitation of one who is._

"Shut up," she said as she started the car and signaled to enter traffic. For a moment, she considered following Jake Peters to SST, but decided against it. She knew that. eventually, she would have to do something about her "son". But for now, having Peters protect him would have to do.

* * * * *

Mercy Memorial Hospital

San Francisco, California

BEEP….BEEP…BEEP…BEEP

Consciousness was slow in coming to Jean-Paul Renard. Then again, he was no stranger to losing consciousness, that was pretty much a given in the lifestyle he chose to live. The occasional job, one of his extreme tricks gone wrong, snowboarding accident, or tangling with one of the many novas who tried to beat the shit out of him…he was used to it.

And it always started the same way when he regained consciousness…the first thing he was aware of was blackness.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEP

Yes, blackness…the shroud of darkness that always greeted everyone when they returned to the land of the living because their eyes are usually shut when they are unconscious…except for that one time when he drank a mixture of Jack Daniels and pure wood alcohol on a dare…he lost consciousness but, according to witnesses, Jean's eyes weren't closed.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEP

But the beeping noise…that was new…his blackness never came with a beeping noise. It was an annoying beep too.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP

"Shut up," he half mumbled. It took him several seconds, but he managed to open his eyes and blink them a couple times. This was normally the point where his vision would start to clear up, but he still kept seeing things in a blurry haze. "Whoa…foggy," he slurred. Why was he slurring? Was he on something? Did he drink another JD and poison cocktail? He tried to push himself up to a sitting position, but felt slight pain in both wrists as he tried to move his arms. He also felt slight pressure across his chest, causing him to look down and see that he was strapped to hospital bed and both wrists were handcuffed. "What the hell?"

"Oh shit," he heard someone say. "He's waking up…and the mox' levels aren't up to containment."

'Mox? They were shooting him up full of moxinoquantimine…that wasn't good, though that would explain why he was feeling groggy, the shit was hampering his accelerated metabolism and regenerative abilities.

Well…that can be fixed.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

_**BEEP..BEEP..BEEP..BEEP…**_

"Fuck," he heard that same person say.

"What is it?" he heard a rough voice ask.

"His adrenaline levels are spiking. His body's metabolism is accelerating, breaking down the 'Mox and the sedatives we're pumping through him." Jean smiled at the panic he could hear in that voice. "At this rate, he'll be able to break free in less than a minute."

"Well, then," the rough voice said, "we can't have that, can we?" A shadow fell over Jean and he looked up to see a very large man in a black suit standing over and looking down at him. "Nighty, night, boy."

The last thing Jean saw was a large black fist, that seemed to crystallize into a hardened substance…at least, that's what he thought in that moment when the aforementioned fist slammed into his face and he felt his jaw break from the impact and the world suddenly exploded around him before being engulfed again in…yep…blackness.

* * *

Nicholas DeYorke unconsciously tugged at the blue medical scrubs he had borrowed off an intern who was tied up, gagged, and unconscious in a laundry bin somewhere. He had contemplated killing the little bastard, but that would have been bad for business. Sure, he may be known as the contract killer called "Slapstick", but he had standards…killing medical interns for free was not an option.

Especially when there was a six million dollar payday…and all he had to do was kill a friend to get it.

And yet, he still felt a little apprehensive…was it because he was going to kill a friend for six million dollars?

Naaaaaah, it wasn't that. Besides, Bomber would understand. In this line of work, you never turned down a profitable job, no matter who the target was. In fact, if the situation were reversed, Nick was certain that Jean wouldn't hesitate to take the contract and come after him. Hell, he would have been insulted if Jean had let some paltry thing like sentimentality corrupt his thinking and not taken the contract.

But still, he felt uneasy and he couldn't figure why. Could it be because of the various Project Utopia agents on the third floor where Jean-Paul Renard was located? Was it because there were several other nova mercenaries in the area, like Nick, who were also hoping to collect the "pot" of six million dollars on Jean's head?

No…no…that wasn't it either. Nick knew that there was a chance he might run into some other nova "elites" who were in on the "pot", but that didn't bother him. If they gave him trouble, he would put them down, maybe even kill them…which would add to his reputation and get him more contract deals.

No…it was just the simple fact that Nicholas DeYorke had learned to hate hospitals recently. Two years prior, he was in New Jersey, had been shot full of holes by the elite known as "Pursuer" and wasn't able to regenerate in time to make his way from the scene. Instead, he was found bleeding on the ground by paramedics and taken to the nearest hospital which, unfortunately, was a teaching hospital. Because of his unique physiology, he found himself under the care of a crazy drug-addicted doctor and his team of sycophants he abused for the hell of it. When he was able to heal his injuries and escape, Nick had contemplated on killing one Doctor Gregory House, but decided to let the bastard live and torment the control-freak bitch administrator who ran the hospital.

Then there was that other hospital he ended up in a few months ago in LA…Sacred Heart. He suppressed a shudder at the incompetency of most of the doctors there...though he was surprised that the one doctor he did like hadn't gone postal and shot the interns full of holes…especially the whiny one who seemed to be daydreaming all the time instead of paying attention to his work.

Oh yeah…he hated hospitals…the sooner he found Jean, killed him, and got the hell out of here, the better. He smiled as a pretty nurse walked by and nodded at her as he entered the elevator she had just exited. Then he hit the button for the third floor.

_Just get in...kill Jean…get out…how hard can it be?_


End file.
